Conrad stood still.
Nothing moved.
The air between him and the woman felt dense; it may feel like too much time has passed, but it has not.
Conrad smiled.
He said nothing.
He simply waited.
Inside his mind, everything was already decided.
He had signaled Adarte more than two minutes ago.
Two full minutes in a Nen battle was a lifetime.
If Adarte had ignored the call, that meant Anisa had already finished things.
If he was coming, then he was close.
Either way, Conrad knew one thing with certainty:
Waiting would not put him at a disadvantage.
"If they arrive, I kill her without any risk at all."
"Against three men users, the woman had no chance at all."
Conrad smirked.
"Yeah, it is not heroic or brave, but it makes sense."
"I am not a hero or honorable individual who is looking to fight."
"If it gives me leverage, I will use it."
Countless Nen users had died believing they were exceptions.
Conrad had learned early that survival was only guaranteed if he did not take risks.
Real life was not an anime or comic book.
So he waited.
Across from him, the middle-aged woman noticed everything.
The stillness.
The lack of tension in his shoulders.
The way his smile never quite faded.
Her eyes flicked sideways for a brief moment, checking Maxwell's position.
Then her gaze returned to Conrad.
"He's waiting for someone."
The realization settled instantly.
If Conrad were confident that no one would come, he would have already pressed his advantage and forced the exchange.
But he hadn't.
Instead, he stood there.
He wouldn't wait if he wasn't sure.
Her thoughts accelerated, snapping together like pieces of a puzzle.
"That means he believes no; he's confident that his ally will arrive."
"And it would be foolish to assume he believes Cailo would be killed one hundred percent…"
Her lips tightened almost imperceptibly.
Cailo was strong.
But not invincible.
"Which means…"
Her eyes sharpened.
"He knows for sure someone else will arrive."
The conclusion formed in less than a second, but for a Nen user at her level, that was more than enough.
She shifted her weight subtly.
Maxwell noticed.
"Something wrong?" he muttered under his breath.
"Stay alert," she replied quietly. "We're on a timer."
Conrad's smile widened just a fraction, as if he could hear her thoughts.
"You're sharp," he said casually, finally breaking the silence.
"That's rare."
She didn't answer immediately.
"You are waiting for your friend to arrive, and you are so sure of it."
"Exactly," Conrad replied.
At this point both nen users knew that if they were to fight, Maxwell would not survive.
It was just that they were still not sure about all the things about each other's abilities, so they took their time.
The woman inhaled slowly.
"If your friend doesn't arrive," she said, "you'll be outnumbered."
Conrad shrugged.
"Then I'll die," he said plainly.
The lack of drama in his voice unsettled her more than any threat could have.
Of course, Conrad did not want to die or believe that he was going to die.
But, at this point, he was just having fun in terms of mentally messing with his enemy.
If he were to say that he is okay with dying, that would be a huge force multiplier in terms of psychological warfare.
Conrad already believed that his battle style was more of a psychological warfare than an outright combat.
He was more like Morel instead of Uvogin and wanted to be more like Chrollo.
He then added.
"But that won't happen. I have things to do before I die."
She studied him carefully now, reassessing everything—his stance, his breathing.
"Why?"
"Why, he is so sure that Cailo would die or be incapacitated and his friends would arrive."
"What makes him think like that?"
"Does he have a Nen user in his team that is really strong?"
"Or, they have already planned everything."
"No!"
She said to herself as her mind worked.
"That is not possible."
"Even nen has its limits."
"Breaking such limits and planning everything is not possible."
"Even if it were possible, such a nen user would not care about Herivo family members or the family itself."
"They would have money, power, and authority; this would be too small of a job for him or her to take."
"Then why?"
This wasn't arrogance; the woman knew it.
A distant impact echoed through the night.
Not close, but close enough.
Her pupils contracted.
Maxwell stiffened. "That sounded like—"
"I know," she said.
Another presence pressed against the edge of her perception.
The woman clicked her tongue softly.
"So," she said, eyes never leaving Conrad, "you were right to wait."
Conrad's smile finally disappeared.
"That was never in question."
And the middle-aged woman understood something crucial:
The moment she hesitated, even for a breath, Conrad would move.